


Missed Goodbyes

by agentcalliope, chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Declarations Of Love, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Season/Series 03, episode 314, prompt, watchdogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:06:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/pseuds/agentcalliope, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Were you even going to tell me? Or would I have to find out when I matched your DNA to whatever scrap was left of you?"</p><p> What may have happened after the end of "Watchdogs".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missed Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roughlycut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughlycut/gifts).



When Jemma finds out he was almost condensed to the size of a marble, Fitz braces himself to be on the receiving end of a serious telling off, perhaps even needed to wipe a few tears off her cheeks. What he didn't expect was to be served with the silent treatment.

It takes several hours after he's been cleared by the med bay for her to seek him out. She doesn't barge in his bunk ready to chew him out as she so often has, but knocks politely on the door and only steps in when she's been invited. She doesn't demand to see his wound and if it weren't for the way her lip trembles, he might have thought she was being more calm about the entire incident that he could ever have anticipated.

"Were you even going to tell me?" She asks and drills holes into the wall behind him rather than looking him in the eye. "Or would I have to find out when I matched your DNA to whatever scrap was left of you?"

"Jemma..."

There it is; the pain. It radiates from her words like scathing heat. While she's doing a good job at maintaining an impassive facade, her voice drips with all the feelings she wishes to conceal but can’t hide from him.

He hates himself for the little thrill of satisfaction it brings.

"I know I hurt you," she says, "I can only imagine how much. And while you certainly didn't deserve the things I spun on you, I don't think I deserve _this_."

"It's not like that," he says, even though it kind of is. He thought he'd blocked it out, that agony, along with the sense of betrayal and disappointment and all the things he doesn't allow himself to feel. But their 'starting over' pact has dislocated his coping mechanism and now he can't trust himself to sort out his stubborn emotions correctly.

He found comfort in the knowledge that they were finally in sync– her blame, his guilt. The two of them, psychically linked once more.

It felt good to hide away from her and wallow in his guilt for killing his rival. It was pleasantly tragic and tangible, the kind of stories humanity has been merrily narrating for thousand of years. A classic, so to speak.

"How is it, then?" Jemma asks, finally turning her gaze towards him and it shamefully pleases him to recognize anger and desperation in her voice.

"I didn't think I was going to make it." It might be cruel of him to state it so flatly, but it's true. She gasps and takes a step towards him. "And I didn't want– I didn't want the tragic goodbyes. The obligatory false declaration of love. Not again. I didn't want _that_ to be the last conversation we had."

Her face twitches a little but she soldiers on and asks, "What would have been our last conversation, then?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. "Something about test samples for your serum, I think?"

"And you think that would be _better_?"

"It's normal. It's– honest.”

"Honest. Right," she huffs bitterly. "So, if _I_ had left the lab this morning after our professional, _normal_ conversation, and gotten myself killed on a mission hours later, you'd be _perfectly_ satisfied with the way we'd left things between us?"

"Hey now, that's not fair."

"Not fair? Not fa– Fitz, think about it for a minute! If the roles were reversed, would you ever forgive me for denying you a proper goodbye? After all these years of friendship and _love_ , don't you think we deserve a more significant farewell?"

"I already lost you once, and never had the chance to say– the last thing I said to you that day was something about looking up restaurants for our date and then you were gone. Just… _gone_."

"And _I_ sat beside you when you were in a coma," she reminds him, brushing impatiently the tears that started to slide down her cheeks, "Without knowing if you would ever wake up, or if you'd be yourself again when you did. There’s been too many missed goodbyes, Fitz, and I don't want to add another one to find out it’s _real_.”

"So, if I _had_ called you to say goodbye," he says, and even after clearing his throat his voice remains shaky, "what would you have said to me?"

"I would've said that I love you," she replies, her tone firm but full of emotion. "I've loved you since you were a pasty, gangly boy genius with a massive ego and very little people skills. I love you, and I'm sorry it took getting sunk to the bottom of the ocean and being sent to an alien planet for me to realize it. And I know you _still_ may not believe me, so I'll just repeat myself until it registers. Goodnight, Fitz."

With that, she brushes her wet cheeks and leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her and all Fitz can do is watch her disappear.

The wound on his neck burns.

He ignores it.


End file.
